


stay soft, my love

by ariya167



Series: the stars do not hold our destiny: moteé/ellé [4]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariya167/pseuds/ariya167
Summary: Alone in the galaxy, Ellé and Moteé come to terms with what they must do next.





	stay soft, my love

When Moteé saw the holo, her first thought was of Senator Amidala. And why wouldn’t it have been? The Jedi Skywalker was her husband, and to see him murdering children in cold blood, so soon after the Chancellor’s terrible speech-well, something must have happened to her. Padmé was tenacious, though, strong and stubborn and willful, she was not dead. She couldn’t be, because Moteé would have felt such a tragedy deep in her soul, echoing in her bones.

Ellé whimpered, and she shut off the recording, shaken from her thoughts. 

“What do we do?” Ellé whispered, putting words to the fear that ran rampant through Moteé’s head.

“What we always have done. We will protect our Lady.” But even as Moteé said the words, she knew they fell flat. Promises, even as deep and binding as the vows between Padmé and her Handmaidens, were nothing compared to a solid plan. And what protection was there to be found, in a galaxy ruled by a tyrannical Emperor?

But Ellé was nodding, spine straightened like steel. “Of course. We’ll stay on Coruscant long enough to make contact with Senator Amidala.”

“Then we should return to Naboo.” Moteé suggested, shaking off her doubt like so many tiny droplets of water. She had not missed this, per se-her duties as a Handmaiden all involved tactics, and strategy, and planning-but sinking back into this routine with Ellé was comforting. “It’s the Emperor’s homeworld, I am sure there are celebrations in the works as we speak.”

“Yes, it is a happy occasion,” Ellé agreed. Senatorial apartments should have be secure, but with Padmé’s connection to Palpatine and Skywalker, they were most likely being recorded. “And we can also speak with Her Majesty about Naboo’s position in this new government.”

Unspoken: how brazen can they be with their rebellion?

“Of course, sister,” Moteé replied. Unspoken: message received. She checked the time on the holoprojector-late evening, nearly nighttime. 

Ellé caught the motion, and met Moteé’s eyes, a question on her lips.

“It’s too late for anything productive,” She said gently. She knew that Ellé needed work to lose herself in-Moteé was growing restless, herself-but all they could do was wait. 

Ellé slumped. “I know,” 

They drifted from the parlour to the bedroom-bedroom, not bedrooms. Normally, only Dormé slept in the apartments with Padmé, since Ellé and Moteé had their own rooms in the property, but since Dormé was visiting family on Naboo, and they could not bring themselves to leave their lady's rooms, that was where they would sleep.

In the dark chamber, Moteé finally let her hood fall, and sat down at the dressing-table. This was their routine, for Ellé to unbraid Moteé’s hair every night, and they could not abandon that now. 

Ellé’s nimble fingers slipped into Moteé’s hair, the feather-soft caresses of her skin warm to the touch. Slowly, she unworked pins and plaits from her hair, combing the tangles until her curls lay across her shoulders. 

They switched places, and and Moteé undid the thick coil of Ellé’s braids. She turned to the hidden buttons in her heavy robes, carefully letting the rich cloth drop from her shoulders. Ellé turned her lips to Moteé’s cheek, pressing a soft kiss to her face. 

She quickly shrugged out of her own robes, and let them fall crumpled to the floor. She didn’t bother to throw on a nightdress, falling back onto the bed next to Ellé. Kisses passed between them, hurried and rushed, but sweet nonetheless. Ellé threaded her fingers through Moteé’s thick hair as it brushed across the bare skin of her shoulders, and Moteé pressed gentle kisses on her lover’s cheekbones. 

“Are we . . . are we going to be okay?” Ellé asked eventually, lying in the crook of Moteé’s neck. 

Tears threatened to spill from Moteé’s eyes, but she held them back through force of will alone. She hesitated, unsure of how to answer, except with the truth. In the soft darkness of the bedroom, limbs intertwined with Ellé’s, she said, “I don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome!


End file.
